Caged
by RavenoftheDead
Summary: Sherlock would never forget the night he was turned. If someone had told him he was going to become a monster before that night, he would brush them off. Before he was bitten, he didn't believe in any folklore or mythical creatures. They were supposed to be just that; mythical.
1. 1: Nothing is Impossible

**Hello, before we start I would like to give a few warnings.**

 **WARNING: Some spoilers for the show all together, I can't promise that I won't include a season, but I want this to be around the beginning of season 3 and it will be heavily influenced by season 4, so if you haven't seen the last season then please don't read this yet.**

 **To those who don't follow me, I am terrible at writing on a schedule, and I often take breaks for school because I lose motivation during the school semester.**

 **May contain blood and gore, and some aspects of depression.**

 **Okay, onto business: Yes, instead of writing or posting to** ** _Secrets,_** **I have started a new fanfiction and polished the intro while I've been gone from fanfiction. I am better at posting to my stories if I have multiple of them, as if I have writers block for one, I can usually write on another one. In fact, in my breaks I usually have written other stories to improve my writing skills a little bit. So, here is one that I actually liked enough to post to fanfiction. Enjoy.**

Chapter 1: Nothing is Impossible

Sherlock would never forget the night he was turned. If someone had told him he was going to become a monster before that night, he would brush them off. Before he was bitten, he didn't believe in any folklore or mythical creatures. They were supposed to be just that; _mythical_.

He had been tailing his suspect when the man collapsed on the ground and started writhing. Rain poured down on London, but the man on the ground was oblivious to it. Sherlock suspected drugs, and he wasn't usually wrong. He waited for the convulsions to end, but froze as the form started to change and grow. Sherlock glanced around the abandoned alleyway to search for cameras. He found none. He was alone. John hadn't come back to 221B like he had planned. Sherlock hadn't accounted for John moving on after he had "died".

Low growls came from the form on the ground, followed by snuffling. Sherlock finally broke out of his trance and sprinted down the narrow alley. The _thing_ pounded after him, its hot breath ghosting down the back of his neck. Never in Sherlock's life had he been so _terrified_ of anything. He now knew what a mouse felt right before a cat caught it and killed it. Sherlock was now prey to this ferocious beast; small and insignificant.

He was almost there; the end of the alleyway was within sight. Hope dared to rise in the detective as his feet slapped on the wet, dark concrete. Sherlock was wrong to hope as claws ripped down his back, pinning him on the ground. Sherlock shouted in agony, his whole world dissolving into white. And after large teeth sunk into his shoulder, his consciousness sunk into darkness.

 **Sorry it's so short, but it is an intro, after all. The chapters will definitely be longer in the future, but this seemed like an appropriate length.**

 **I don't know the next time I will be posting, but let's aim for some time in June or early July, yes?**

 **This chapter's questions:**

 **What do you want to see out of this story?**

 **What stereotypes should I avoid?**

 **Do you have any suggestions to help me improve in my writing?**


	2. 2: It Should Be Mythical

Sherlock slowly rose to consciousness, his whole body on fire. After he fought back the pain, he immediately noticed the scent of blood and… something bitter and metallic. It was unsettling, and he didn't know why. Sherlock slowly peeled open his eyes, but quickly closed them again as a light burned into his retinas. The sun, his bleary mind noted.

"So you're awake." A deep growling voice echoed in the abandoned alleyway. Sherlock shuddered, but forced himself to open his heavy eyelids. Before him sat his suspect, crouching over his body.

"Where am I?" Sherlock croaked, his voice weak. The man ignored his question and handed Sherlock a water bottle. He accepted it and took a few careful sips, choking on it as it went down his throat. He winced at how sore his body felt.

"You're in the alley from last night." The man answered, his eyes showing his guilt. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, confused.

"What happened?" He asked with a slightly stronger voice. He drew what conclusions he could as he glanced around the alleyway. What he saw surprised him into silence, his eyes widening. There was blood everywhere. He quickly assessed himself, and gasped in the state he was in. His shirt was torn in large slashes, and there wasn't an inch of fabric or skin that wasn't covered in blood. His breathing sped up as his body caught up to his mind. The man wasn't speaking, probably letting Sherlock draw his own conclusions.

Flashes of the night sparked in his mind, leaving him more confused than before. He carefully went over the information in his head and tried to make sense of it. He dismissed everything he thought impossible and forced his mind to try to remember the night. As he started to remember more, the memory flooded into his mind, as if he used explosives on a dam. With the memory came the sense to feel threatened by the man in front of him.

"Wh-What are you?" Sherlock cursed his stutter, but he couldn't help but to feel fear in front of the _beast_ crouching over him.

"Look man, I don't know how to explain it; I've never had to do it before." The man struggled with his words, trying to find the best way to tell his story.

"Don't dance around the question, just tell me what you are." Sherlock responded, trying to make sense of his now completed memories. "I was following you last night when you collapsed." Sherlock tried to pry the story from the man.

"Well I guess there isn't an easier way to say this. I'm a werewolf." The man waited for Sherlock to respond nervously. He fumbled with his hands, and the guilt entered his eyes again. Sherlock chuckled at the man.

"You have got to be joking! Werewolves don't exist, they're _fairytales_ , nothing more." Sherlock sneered at the man, even with the voice in the back of his head telling him that the man was _not lying_.

"I'm serious! What do you remember after I fell down? I-" He broke off, tears welling in his eyes before forcing himself to continue. "I attacked you. I _turned_ you. Just try to remember." The man furiously scrubbed the tears out of his eyes, the guilt stronger than ever. Sherlock did as he was told, and entered his memories again. He came out of his memories with a gasp. It was silent for a few moments before the detective found he could respond.

"When you said you turned me, did you mean…" Sherlock couldn't find it within himself to finish the sentence; his throat dry.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I-" His breath hitched before he scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to, I-I just lost control." He finished with a sob, covering his face with his hands.

"What does this mean for me?" Sherlock asked, suddenly very afraid for himself. The man dared to glance up at the detective before taking a calming breath.

"I don't even know your name, and I turned you-" He was cut off by Sherlock telling the man his name. Shock briefly flitted through his mind before he nodded. "Mine's Nick. Nice to meet you." Nick said mockingly. Sherlock silently watched the man, encouraging him to continue. He felt his strength slowly draining, his body sinking into exhaustion.

"You're that detective that died two years ago, right?" At Sherlock's impatient nod, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Stay dead. Move somewhere isolated so you don't hurt anybody. You'll lose control if you get too angry or overwhelmed. Get control of your mind, and maybe then you can come back." He paused at the scream of a woman in the front of the alleyway. He swore, his eyes flitting to Sherlock.

"Look, we don't have too much time. Just remember that the number one rule is that normals can't know about us wolves, okay? As harsh as this sounds, you can figure out the rest on your own. If you don't follow the rule, the government will go after you." Nick smiled softly at the new werewolf. "Good luck, kid." He said before sprinting away from the detective.

"Wait, I still have questions!" Sherlock shouted before coughing violently. Once he determined the man wasn't coming back, he let his head drop to the ground, feeling weak. Feet slapping on pavement raced closer to the downed detective. Sherlock forced his head to turn to see who was approaching. He parted his cracked lips, his voice barely a whisper.

"Lestrade..." Sherlock moaned. As Lestrade crouched next to him, Sherlock's vision faded.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade's voice yelled. The consulting detective closed his eyes, and knew no more.

 **I know I've been gone for quite a while... Almost a year now. I have to say that I honestly forgot about my stories in the past year because of how much stress and change I have been through. I had decided to connect with nature a little bit more, and so my stories went on a little hiatus. I honestly don't know when I will next update, but I promise you guys that I won't abandon my stories. I think I may write a plan for them and then go from there.**

 **If you have any questions about this (or my other story), please let me know!**

 **Also, if you want something specific to happen in this story, then review or DM me!**

 **See you guys next time!**


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